Dead, Surprisingly
by yasiko
Summary: being shot is an irritating matter,in the head only makes it uncomfortable. but not dying from it, thats hell. as harry drifts between life and afterlife,Draco becomes aware of a presence that seems to trail his every move and become worried.
1. Chapter 1

DEAD

The eggs frying in the pan sizzled with more life than Harry could summon. Why was that? Why did the baron seem happier than he was? Harry prodded the egg with the edge of the spatula breaking the yoke. He watched as the yellow bleed out and started to fry itself onto the bacon. That's right, it bleed. It bleed the yoke out.

"Boy!"

Harry's head snapped up to see his uncle standing in the door way, in his usual purple sweats. His face was already as red as a tomato so early in the morning, which generally was a bad sign for the day.

"Yes uncle Vernon?"

Even to his ears his voice sounded monotone. Dead. As if he was the one bleeding yoke all over the bacon.

"You better not do anything to this house while we're away boy! "He spit, pointing at Harry and other suspicious inanimate objects about the room.

"I won't, uncle Vernon." Harry said while turning the stove off and throwing the food into the garbage.

Vernon had won a tropical cruise with his company that lasted for three weeks, sailing around the Caribbean. They were leaving that afternoon and Aunt Petunia had convinced Uncle Vernon to allow Harry to stay and watch the house, so they wouldn't have to pay anyone to come and check on it.

After the final battle Harry remembered standing there covered in dirt and blood and breathing like he had just run three marathons, feeling this horrible abyss come to life inside him, centered on this one question.

What am I supposed to do now?

He was sent back to the Dursley's, for lack of any where else to go. The Black Manor had burned to the ground in one of Voldomort's attempts at killing Harry, the Burrow had finally given up hope and collapsed, thankfully while everyone was throwing a victory party in Hogwarts, and Harry refused to stay in the school.

Of course Uncle Vernon wasn't happy about the arrangements, he had been positive the boy had died sometime during the school year and was finally rid of him. But seeing as how their wallets seemed to be fearfully light because of Dudley's 111 birthday presents the past month, any money they could save they would.

Uncle Vernon sent one last accusing glare Harry's way and waddled his way back upstairs.

There had been a slight fight between Harry and Vernon as the latter locked Harry's wand in the shed in the backyard. Uncle Vernon had ended up punching Harry in the nose to get Harry off him so he could run away. It was a funny sight, really, from an omnipotent point of view. But Harry was unable to find it humorous as he watched his only weapon get locked away while holding a bleeding nose.

After making a new breakfast for them, and helping Dudley pack all of his toys away in three suitcases, he finally was able to stand in the doorway and watch as Uncle Vernon mouthed the words ' if you do anything your DEAD' through the window while they drove off.

The first week went by slowly. Harry slept a lot and watched quiet a bit of TV. He read almost all of Aunt Petunia's romance novels that she had tried to hide in a laundry basket in her and Vernon's closet. He weeded the garden twice in three days and spent hours trying to figured out away to knock down the shed.

Week two was not much different than week one, except Harry had become a little more desperate towards finding something to occupy his time.

He tried to learn sign language from one of Dudley's preschooler books. He read the potions textbook fives times in two days. He discovered Aunt Petunia's label maker in the linen closet and made a label for everything in the house. He gave up on the shed by then.

It was during one of those late niters as he read the potions textbook that Harry fell asleep on the couch.

He woke up to the sound of "Coronation Street" reruns, and the sight of a guy dressed in black leaning over him.

Seeing Harry awake the guy grinned and straightened.

"Well, I dunno if I should be glad or sad about seeing you awake, kid." He said in a rather odd accent. It wasn't British, but it did sound quiet like it.

Harry blinked and looked around. The clock on the VCR said 2:56am. He sat up and the book fell out of his lap and hit the floor with a muffled thump.

"Who are you?" seemed to be the best question at the moment.

The man was holding a lamp from the Dursley's bedroom, examining it.

"Why does the lamp have a label on it stating that it's a lamp?" he asked, quiet curious.

Herry withheld the need to blush and looked away.

The man tilted the lamp down and snickered, "look 'ere, the light bulbs been labeled too! Same as the shade!"

Harry growled, "I was bored."

"Look here! A desk!" mocking voices said behind harry. He looked around to see two other men dressed in black walking around the house with bags over their shoulders.

"Why!" the other announced dramatically, "however do you know for certain it is a desk?!"

"Because my good man! Look there! It's _labeled_!!!"

Harry huffed, "why are you here?"

The obvious ring leader glanced around, his eyes lighting on the empty cabinet shelves and the empty spaces on the wall where photos used to hang. Now that he noticed it, Harry mused, the whole hose had been cleared out except the couch and TV.

"I have to say kid, it's pretty obvious."

Harry blinked, "You're robbing me?"

The man tossed his head in the twos direction, "they've been at that joke for a good half hour now, it seems you've labeled everything 'ere but the things in the second bedroom."

Why wasn't he panicking? Why wasn't his heart pounding away in fear and horror at what was going on around him? Why was there no emotion?

"alotta weird things in that room too eh?" the guy said, putting the lamp down and picking up Harry potions book.

"An owl, candy I've never seen before, moving pictures and stuff. Textbooks on magic…"

He flipped through a few pages.

"So…. Where is your wand, kid?"

Harry stood up and took the book from the man; he clasped it to his chest.

"I don't have a wand, people can't do magic, don't be stupid. I just like studying Wicca, it's fascinating."

He guy grunted and looked around.

"All set boss, everything's in the van." A goon said from the door way.

The guy grunted again and pulled a gun from the back of his pants.

Harry tensed instantly. His wand was in the shed. Oh Merlin it was still locked in the bloody shed. He had no portkey, no aparation location. Everyone had assumed the danger had passed. Everyone had though Harry had killed it.

"You see kid," the guy fiddled with it in his hands, not looking anywhere but at Harry's eyes.

"We got a problem. You've seem our faces, heard our voices."

He leveled the gun at Harry's head.

"So you got to die."

Harry dived for behind the couch but not in time and the man shot him in the shoulder. He collapsed groaning. The man walked around and stood over him, watching as Harry tried to crawl away, gripping his bleeding arm.

He kicked Harry in the gut, forcing him to roll onto his back.

Once again he was looking in to the barrel of a gun.

"Sorry kid."

It's odd, getting shot in the head. You hear the explosion, and you feel the first penetration into your skull. But after that it's this nothingness.

And Harry had this distinct image of the yoke bleeding out of the egg and frying into the bacon.


	2. Chapter 2

DEAD STILL

DEAD STILL

(2nd part-draco prov.)

"Do you feel bad, Nigel? About the kid?" brew sloshed onto the table as bugler No. 1 set his drink down on the lop-sided table.

"Nah," Nigel said tossing a nut into his mouth and winking at the waitress, "'e was a weird one tho' eh?"

No. 1 stared down into his mug and watched as the cup tripled and spun in a funny dance.

"I'm pissed, sah. Think…" he drifted off trying to focus on the form of his boss, "think I'll head home…"

He pushed away from the table and stumbled for the door.

" 'ere wait, take Billy with yah, he's pissed enough to drown in the puddles on the table if we're not careful."

No.1 swung around and heaved the fat arm of said passed out Billy and stumbled his way out the door and into the damp alley.

Nigel watched them leave, snorting when Frank smacked Billy's head on the doorframe. He threw back a few more nuts and a shot, watching the waitress from the corner of his eye to see if she saw the smooth motion. Fuck he needed to get laid.

The night wore on, the shot glasses pilled higher and Nigel's mind began to drift. It was around the time the bar tender is eyeing you up to kick out and the waitress is making her last round before calling it a night when somebody suddenly took the chair across from him. Everything was a little hazy around the edges and seemed to drift to the right so focusing to see the face was too hard for the effort.

When the three images finally did converge into one Nigel's eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out across the bar.

Harry Potter looked down at his unconscious form and frowned.

The bartender waved the waitress over and they both heaved Nigel up and took him outside.

I used to think my life was on fast forward, speeding through the moments so that I barely had time to react let alone feel. But now I realize that was just a childish outlook of a fool. I believed I'd have the time later to enjoy the laughter with my friends, the love of flying, the anger of fighting, and the fear of school. Staring down at his see-through hands, Harry realized he was all out of time.

At the sound of the thump and distant moan, the bartender and waitress came back inside and set about cleaning up before closing. The waitress swept around the room, spinning around the tables like a top, leaving nothing but clean shiny tables behind her. She whipped right past him and Harry watched as his knee passed right through her hip. It wasn't painful or nauseating. It was more like a reminder of his non-existence that caused the grimace of pain to cross his face as her arm reached through him and swiped at the counter with her cloth.

So many emotions filled him, so many he had kept locked in his chest and now they had no where to go but out. So much that he just couldn't handle it. The need to cry, break, scream and laugh was so strong he was locked in place; one movement would break him he was sure. It was as if without the physical barrier of his ribs and chest there was nothing to keep him from drifting away.

He supposed he should go get help, perhaps Remus wouldn't mind him hanging around for a while, at least until he figured out what he was supposed to do.

He stood up and watched as the bartender and waitress shut off the lights and locked up. When he was doused in the darkness it was as if he wasn't even there.

Bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood

You're supposed to feel something at a funeral right?

Guilt,

Sorrow,

Confusion,

Loss.

Even anger,

Hate,

Happiness, for goodness sake!

But not nothing, never nothing.

I suppose I shouldn't be shocked, the lack of love in my family has never been a secret. But they were my parents, the fed me and sheltered me. They raised me.

I'm supposed to feel something.

… Anything.

Everyone has gone, and I'm left alone in my confusion, alone to flounder though my pool of disjointed thoughts.

The fresh dirt over the graves gives me no chills up my spine, no tears to spill from my eyes. How can I be so cold and indifferent to them when they are now dead and buried under the earth?

I make note that the gravestone is crooked.

Should I fix it?

Was that right?

I just didn't know anymore…

No one was around to help, but I kneeled down by the block of granite anyway.

I don't need help.

They were _my_ parents; I should be able to do this for them. Myself.

I braced myself against the cold hard stone, and pushed.

Nothing happened.

I pushed again.

Still nothing.

It's to strong.

I'm too weak.

I should be able to do this, _damnit!_

_I have too!_

What is wrong with me?

Why am I so weak?

Pale blonde strands of hair fell into my eyes, wet.

I'm imperfect. Small. Weak. Good.

….. Crying.

Why do I hurt?

I glance down and see I'm still pushing against the tombstone, my nails digging into the resilient stone, my clothing stained with dirt. Sobs wracked my body till it hurt to move, to breath, to live.

I lost my footing.

I'm on hands and knees, staring into the dirt of my parents graves through my tears. My hands sunk into the overturned dirt of the fresh graves, defacing the perfection.

I couldn't even fix a fucking crooked stone for the people who _raised_ me!

What kind of a son was i?

The dirt was so rich, it was black; black like hatred, like their hearts.

…. Like mine.

"I'm sorry, okay?" I sob out, tears spilling from my eyes in a torrent, into my mouth and nose, I tasted salt.

"I'm sorry."

I was apologizing to the horrible people I called parents, the demons who stole my life. Admitting that they mattered to me, why?

"I'll be ruthless, I'll marry rich, I'll hate life."

My chest was on fire, breath sucked into me with the flame, burning, and burning.

"I'll become a death eater, I'll marry Pansy, I'll hate Potter."

Why? Why am I saying this? Its not how I feel, it's not what I'll do, but I'm saying it, why?

Do I love them?

"Just… just…. just love me…. Or hate me…. Or... or… _see_ me, _damnit!_"

My eyes hurt to close, my mouth felt like it was made of lead, and my heart, my heart ached like it had been stepped on and kicked and beaten within an inch of breaking. My fingers are submerged in the dirt.

How did I get here?

What was I waiting for?

They're dead, they can't just come back and say all the things I need them to say, do all the things I need them to do.

What am I waiting for?

… An answer?

I sat back and buried my hands in my hair, turning pale sliver, to black in seconds. I pressed my palms to my eyes, pushing so hard all I saw was shiny dots dancing in my vision to a song I can't hear.

I was hiding from what I knew would happen.

… nothing.

Remus Lupin found me and took me to his house. He wrapped me up in a fluffy towel and served me a warm cup of tea. We sat in old tattered leather chairs in front of a large fireplace and he rummaged through a battered trunk to pull out a small blue book. When I opened it was filled with pictures from my parents wedding. Remus explained that Sirius had been invited to the wedding by accident but showed up anyway and had taken the pictures. All of them were of my mother in an icy white dress that clung to her slim form, her hair up in a diamond tiara. My father in a pristine white dress robe embroidered in silver on the cuffs and collar. They were smiling as they walked down the isle, ate cake, danced on the ballroom floor and kissed under the alter.

Remus didn't mind that I cried myself to sleep in his study.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: House Visit

Remus's house was very small so he had a cot conjured for me beside the fireplace to keep me warm. The old me would have sneered at the puny size of the house and the measly cot. now I grinned and bowed my head in thanks. Remus was uncomfortable with me there, I knew; so I made myself as useful as I could. In the mornings I made the tea and helped with the breakfast. I cleaned the house and tidied the yard. Remus usually sat in his tiny study and read, or wrote. When i peek my head in he was always slumped over something in the dark with only a little light beside him to see by. I think he misses my cousin Sirius, who died in the war. The sorrow in that room was so rich you could taste it as a heavy aftertaste on the back of my tounge. I didn't go in there often.

We became accustomed to each other and time passed more quickly. We had settled into a comfortable routine and were enjoying our early morning cup of tea at the kitchen table when a absolute bizerk owl flew into the window and crashed onto the table, sliding along and dropping off the other side. Before we even got the letter off the ruddy birds leg the fire sputtered to life and a red eyed McGonagall crowded the tiny grate. I assumed bad news right then.

I could tell Remus wanted to cry; I certainly did. But as we drew on our coats and headed out the door he held in place a stony cold mask that made him look cruel and rough.

When we got there he banged on the door till you could hear the thuds of someone coming to the door. He pulled me closer and told me to stay quiet. A large fat, red faced muggle in a argyle sweater appeared in the door way. He took one look at Remus and slammed the door. Remus banged on the door again.

" Let us in Dursley! before I let us in for you." he called through the wood. This time a slim horse faced woman opened the door and held it open for us. We walked in and stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall. Or at least i felt awkward, Remus looked thunderous.

"Where is he? I know he's here, he has to be here."

The fat mans faced turned even redder,

" Hes in the shed, along with all the rest of his crap." he hissed with angry beady eyes.

Remus swept around and stormed out of the house, I trailed after.

He blasted open the locked door on the front of a decrepit, moldy shed that was shoved in the back of the tiny yard. It burst open and banged around releasing a cloud of dust. We squinted through the darkness and once the dust had settled we could see a mound of something shoved in the back corner.

"Oh Harry..." Remus breathed, his mask slipping as he rushed over falling to his knees. He grabbed the mound and turned it over.

Potter was wrapped up in a old sheet with a gaudy, yellow print on it, with blood stains everywhere. He looked as pale as death. A large red, gaping hole ran through his forehead right over where his lightning bolt scar was. Used to be.

My stomach turned and I looked away from Remus's mask disappearing and him bending over the body shaking with pent up sobs. I closed my ears to his wails of grief.

The horse-woman stood beside me and watched as Remus rocked back and forth holding Potter's limp body.

" We came home after our cruise to our house empty and him on the floor." She said hugging her sweater closer to herself. " We- at first i thought it was a joke a-and Vernon kicked the bo- Harry to see if he would move...." She gulped and turned away from the shed.

" He-hes been dead a week yet he hasn't decayed. We tried to burn the body a-after we realized he was dead but he wouldn't burn i-i-" She shuddered and looked as if she would cave in on herself at any moment.

" I just want it gone." She breathed then walked back into the house.

After a few minutes to collect myself I turned back to see Remus still broken. He was whispering over and over again, " he was supposed to be safe, it was supposed to be over."

I couldn't handle the pain that was crashing in on me and I went back to the house to see a mini whale with blonde hair wave me over and I followed him upstairs. He took me into a small room with bars on the window and a rag for a blanket on the bed. The boy stood awkwardly inside the room as if he was uncomfortable being in it. I sat on the bed.

" I..." he began then stumbled, " I saved his stuff from dad burning them, they're in the closet. His bird flew away when I opened the cage I'm... I'm sorry I....." He shifted from foot to foot. I couldn't see his eyes but I think he was close to tears. " I tried to stop her I really did but she bit me and just took off."

Realization hit when I saw the birdcage beside the window. I was in Potter's room. On his bed. The boy left me there and the second he was out of site I sprang away from the bed and looked in horror around the room. This is where Potter went every summer. This horrible home with these horrible people is where he had to go after he had ended the war.

Why? Why was he even dead? Did these muggles kill him? Why was all their stuff gone? What kind of weapon could make such a wound as the one on Potters head? Where had his wand been when it happened?

I backed up till I hit the door frame and sank down to the ground. My head became heavy and I felt the pressure build in my eyes till I let out a little sob. This isn't how it was supposed to be at all.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

We took the body to Hogwart's Hospital wing. I wasn't allowed to be in there so I had to sit in a chair outside the large door way and watched as people rushed in and rushed out all in absolute hysteria. Sitting there hadn't been to bad, it let me get a grip on how I was feeling, but the worst part was listening to the screams as they saw the body through the door. Mrs. Weasley screamed so loudly I had to clamp my hands over my ears to keep myself from screaming along with her. All the pale faces, shaking hands, red eyes became a blur and it wasn't until Remus was setting me down on my cot in the living room by the fire did I realize that I had fallen asleep.

Remus swiped a cloth over my cheeks and pulled the covers over my shoulders. I felt like a child and closed my eyes from the thought that Remus was putting all his attention onto me so that he felt useful. He took off my shoes and stoked the fire. Then he took a seat in one of the large comfy chairs and I drifted off.

I woke to a cup of tea being put beside my head on the coffee table and I sat up rubbing my eyes. Remus was still sitting in the chair, staring into the fire. I couldn't hold myself back.

" Is he... is he really dead?" I asked.

" We don't know... I don't think so." Remus said and I took the cup of tea from the table.

"Well the what do we-"

" I don't know."

Yasiko: sorry if theres punctuation mistakes i don't have a good spell checker.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing, which sucks.

(I know it's been ages since I wrote anything. Shit gets in the way and next thing you know it's been 2 years. Anyway, hope you like the next chapter, even though this is one of my stories no one reads…. )

Draco stared into his cup of tea the next morning with bloodshot and swollen eyes. Remus was still in bed. Well actually he had only just went to bed because when Draco had got up he had found Remus passed out, slumped over his desk with two empty bottles of Gin beside him. It had been a bit of a struggle but Draco had managed to half drag, half carry Remus to his bed and tuck him in. It was only just creeping past five in the morning by the time Draco sat down at the old kitchen table with the mug of steaming tea between his hands. He sat there, staring off into nothing, his mind shuttered and lost when he felt a chill up his spine. He twitched and tore his eyes away from the blank wall across from him to slowly look around. There was nothing there of course. He and Remus were the only ones in the house and Remus was so dead to the world it was unlikely he would be conscious until next week. Draco made a mental reminder to check him for alcohol poisoning later. The small round table with its two chairs were pushed against the back wall of the kitchen, with the kitchen cupboards and sink stretched along the side wall with the door across from it. It was a tiny kitchen with only one small window above the table. No one could have walked in without Draco seeing it. But still he felt a chill as if someone was standing behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Merlin save him if he was going mad. Perfect fucking timing though. His lip quirked and he slumped back down. He needed a drink. When the chill didn't leaving his spine after a few minutes and the hairs on the back of his neck rose and refused to go down Draco stood up and went to the cupboard over the sink to rummage around until he found a bottle of scotch. He dumped a healthy sum into his tea and placed the bottle beside his cup, figuring Remus would be a complete hypocrite to get mad at him now. He took a gulp of tea and cringed when it burned down his throat sinking into a nauseas roiling puddle in his stomach. He took another huge drink and then let his head fall to the table. He realized he was crying again when his nose dragged a line of salty water along the table. He hiccupped a laugh which caught in his throat that then became a sob.

There was no winning was there? There was no equivalent exchange. There was no justice. There was only reality and reality fucking sucked. This isn't what was supposed to happen. Potter was supposed to survive, become a celebrity, marry the Ginger and pop out 2.5 kids and live until he was 150 and die quietly in his sleep. Because that was what he deserved, that was what he got in return for having to live with all the shit he got before. It was his damn reward. And Draco was suppose to have been punished and brought down, humbled, but still fulfill his Malfoy duties and marry and have his one child and die at a young age from being an alcoholic because that was what he deserved. There was no fucking justice in the world anymore. Draco began to laugh and then he couldn't stop. He sides ached and his head pounded but he couldn't get control of his body long enough to stop the laughter. He clutched at his sides and banged his head against the table and felt the tears burn down his face, his laughter ringing through the quiet kitchen.

Harry stared down at Malfoy's shaking shoulders and thought about leaving. When he had decided he would visit Remus and investigate if anyone else could see him he found that not everything was like the movies. He had hoped that, since his existence wasn't really real, then it was plausible that he would be able to think himself somewhere and there he would be there. He didn't remember how he got to the bar. One second he was at the house and the next he was standing in the bar with the waitress walking through his right elbow. But death didn't seem to work that way. He had to walk all the way to Hogsmead, the little town Remus had a house in. And it hadn't been easy because one second he would be walking up the train tracks that went from London to Hogwarts and the next he'd be standing in a Teashop in Cardiff. Thankfully after the Teashop, a back alley in Madrid and the middle of a snow covered farmer's field he found himself standing in the great hall of Hogwarts. It was deserted and he couldn't imagine anyone still being there during the summer holidays so he quickly jogged down to the village before he was yanked off to the Australian outback or something.

When he walked through the door and heard the kettle boiling over in the kitchen he had felt such relief swamp him that he honestly thought he would cry if it had been physically possible. But then he saw _him_, walking into the hall from the bedroom to head into the kitchen and take the kettle off the stove. His first though had been that the git had murdered Remus and was squatting in his house. Harry had been ready to tear Malfoy a new breathing hole when he saw the small cot beside the fireplace. Malfoy wouldn't sleep in that rickety old thing if the bedroom was free. He had standards. So Harry drifted through the bedroom door to see Remus asleep in his bed, tightly tucked in, with his shoes neatly placed at the foot of the bed; all the while he could hear Malfoy puttering around in the kitchen.

He felt lost. Remus was his only family left, had Remus found a new family now that Harry was gone? Did he even know what had happened? Had anyone found his body yet? How much time had passed? He walked into the kitchen to see Malfoy gazing at the wall across from him seated at the table with the cup of tea in his hands, with a look of utter despair glued to his face. Harry was stabbed with guilt. Malfoy had suffered just as much as him during the war, probably more seeing as how Harry had only had to kill Voldemort, not live with him for a year. Who knows what Malfoy had to see, do to survive, who he had lost. Harry was brought out of his thoughts when Malfoy tensed and looked around the kitchen nervously, like he could sense that Harry was there.

Harry was torn. He wanted to be seen, he wanted to get help, but Malfoy was possibly the last person on earth Harry wanted to get that help from. Also the likelihood that Malfoy would laugh in his face when he found out Harry had been killed by a muggle burglar wasn't overly appealing either. He took a step forward and then hesitated. Malfoy stood and when he walked towards Harry he could see that Malfoy's face was all puffy and his eyes were rimmed in red. His hair was mussed up and was looking kind of greasy and his clothes looked like he had slept in them. To be honest he looked like shit and just a little bit off his rocker. Malfoy's foot stepped through Harry's when he reached up into a cupboard and brought down a full bottle of scotch. He poured so much into his tea that Harry gagged. Malfoy dropped his head onto the table and Harry's resolve wore away. He sighed and walked over to sit down across from Malfoy and watched as he broke down. When Malfoy started to laugh uncontrollably while tears raged down his face Harry decided enough was enough.

"I always knew you'd be the first one to go mad, Malfoy."

Draco jerked to a stop, the laughter dying in his throat. Slowly he raised his head till he was staring at where the voice came from, the empty chair in front of him. He took several quick breaths, glancing around the room but always coming back to that empty chair.

"Hello?"

He said tentatively, hoping that he was just going insane and that he was only hearing the voices that all mad people heard. Please Merlin let him just be mad because that voice, that voice only came from one person that Draco knew.

"Hullo Malfoy." The voice said, still coming from the empty chair. Then he heard strained laughter, "of course it had to be you, someone out there has a hilarious sense of humor."

Draco started to hyperventilate then his hands gripping his tea cup so hard he spilled most of it onto the table.

"I'm going mad, I'm going mad!" he said to himself, or at least he hoped to himself, "Potter?!" He said throwing his arm out and waving it around above the chair. Frantically trying to see something, feel something.

"Stop that!" he heard and then the voice had moved to be beside him, "I didn't come here to get an arm through my skull. You're not going mad…. At least, I don't think you are." There was a pause, "maybe only mad people can see me… I suppose I could go see Lockheart and check…" The voice drifted towards the door and Draco stood up.

"No! Don't go!" The words were out before he was able to stop himself and he looked around the small kitchen, not knowing where to rest his eyes.

"Don't go," he repeated, "if that really is you Potter and not me going absolutely bonkers."

The voice seemed to be coming from the sink this time, "why would you be hearing my voice if you've gone round the bend Malfoy? "

Draco swallowed, "How are you here?" he asked, "Why are you here? How long have you been…." He waved his arm at the empty air, "like this?" his throat was dry and he ran his tongue over his chapped lips. He could feel the scotch wearing away at his fear and tense muscles till he felt almost sane again.

Potter didn't respond for a long while, making Draco think he had left when he heard Potters voice mere feet from him.

"I don't know," He said in a small hollow voice, "I just don't know."

Draco reached behind and grabbed his half spilled tea flavored Scotch and drank down the rest. He grimaced and a gagging sound could be heard from the sink. He was going to retort but was distracted by the sensation of the alcohol seeping pleasantly into his limbs and eyes and he paused to enjoy the warmth.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in Remus' flat Malfoy?"

Draco opened his eyes, realizing that he had closed them and cleared his throat.

"Looting all his valuables obviously," his fingers tightened on the empty mug and he was swamped with the overwhelming urge to hide in bed. The only problem was his bed was in the living room and that would not deter Potter in the slightest. "We bumped into each other recently and I…" he fought looking down to see if he had black dirt on his hands. His balance shifted and he found himself reaching out to the table. His eyes blinked slowly and he sighed.

"That Scotch is really hitting you, how long has it been since you ate? You look like Dobby… and your clothes aren't much better than his pillow case…" the words dragged out in Draco's head as the world tilted to the left and he felt for the wall so he could make it to his cot before he passed out.

"Seriously Malfoy, what happened to you?" the words were right in front of him and he as he passed through the doorway towards the living room he felt a warmth, like someone's breath, pass over him. He was asleep before his body hit the cot.

Harry stared down at Malfoy, sprawled across his cot before the fireplace; he had only just managed not to concuss himself on the bed frame before passing out.

He thought about snorting but derision seemed too much effort. Everyone was now asleep, or at least everyone that mattered. It would be hours before either of them would wake and as far as Harry could tell he did not require sleep. Harry sighed and sat down on the overstuffed armchair that barely fit in the cramped living room. Running his hand through his hair he looked out the window to the bleak morning light.

He knew he had options, but his desire to find out if others could see him was drowned out by engulfing fear. He didn't have much awareness of time but word of his death had to have been spread. Harry didn't want to be witness to that grief. Not from them.

He had just decided to wait out Malfoy's drunken sleep when he was sitting in a vacant chair in what appeared to be someone's office. He looked around and noticed the large engraved M on the wall. Rolling his eyes he watched as the ministry official, whose office he seemed to be in, opened the door and shut it firmly behind them. It was a tall man, slim with a dark blue suit and bowler hat. He looked like he had walked out of an episode of Tin Tin. The man was reading intensely from a folio making little noises of distress at intervals. Harry sprang from the chair as the man slid in and set the folio on his desk.

"What are they thinking?" the man muttered as he pulled out the drawers in his desk looking or something. Harry edged even farther away only to look over to find he was halfway through an Owl cage, with the occupant staring intently at him.

"Storing a body in a school, how are we supposed to keep this from the public?!"

Harry ignored the owl and leaned over to read over the man's shoulder. He caught the words Harry Potter, stasis and secret before the man leaned over the pages to sign on the bottom. Harry crept back over to the corner of the room to watch as the man pushed the folio away and rummaging around in his desk for something. He had just pulled out a bar of wax when someone walked into his office. Short, bald and shoulders like a footballer he stopped before the desk and set down a cup of tea. Ah, assistant then.

"Jenkins was asking for you Mr. Brodwell. And there is an urgent owl from Hogwarts.,. Again."

"Yes yes," Brodwell said waving the man away as he heated the wax and stamped the folio with a seal. He did not notice the assistants eyes flick back and forth as he read the folio upside down.

"Now I need this sent to the undersecretary as soon as possible, do you understand me?" Brodwell said as he magicked the folio into a black envelope and handed it to the assistant.

Harry looked back at the owl to find it still looking at him.

"Well that was suspicious." He said with a raised eyebrow.

Brodwell jumped and as he looked about his office Harry faded away…

…to find himself standing beside the Arc de Triomphe, with a pigeon in his right foot.

"Great."


End file.
